


Somewhere Only We Know (for better or for worse)

by SmolPidge



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Byleth and Lorenz are mentioned, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, but it's really just Cyril and Lysithea throughout the years, cuddling galore, for Cyril's birthday!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 09:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolPidge/pseuds/SmolPidge
Summary: "She’d hated being in that room; not because she was claustrophobic or because she was scared of ghosts (though Cyril would still have to hold her hand whenever they walked over because she was “afraid that she might trip,” or something), but because she hated the thought that he lived in such a drab place.Instead she had distracted herself with the way he had to push his hair back every couple minutes or the way his nose would scrunch up when he had trouble reciting a particular word."OrIn which Lysithea visits Cyril's room throughout the years and how her feelings towards it (and him) change as a result.A very fluffy, but also somewhat angsty Cysithea fic written in honor of Cyril's birthday!





	Somewhere Only We Know (for better or for worse)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renfuros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renfuros/gifts).

> Wow I meant to write a drabble for Cyril's birthday and this monstrosity popped up instead. Still, it was fun! Bappy birthday baby boy! Also dedicated to the CEO of Cyril FireEmblem, @renfuros! Thanks for reminding me of this special date!

Lysithea had been to Cyril’s room before, back before the war when she’d first offered to teach him how to read and write. Normally, they had their lessons in the library or her room, but the library was only open for so long, and the commoner dorms’ walls were so thin she feared that she’d wake up her neighbors if they spoke aloud. In such instances, Cyril’s room had been the perfect make-do spot, seeing as it was almost impossible to notice unless someone pointed it out. One had to climb up a set of rickety stairs hidden behind thick gray curtains to get there, then walk the length of the interior balcony overlooking the reception hall before reaching a small nook on the far side of the wall. 

It had likely been leftover architectural space, Cyril had told her. “When I first got here they used this space to store things, like preserves and stuff.” 

Lysithea hadn’t been surprised. The nook bore no door, just another set of those stinky gray curtains. There was no window either, and the only amenities had been a hay bed, a couple crates, and a low wooden table. The ceiling was high enough that she had been able to stand up without hitting her head  _ then _ , but given a few more years of height growth and she had been positive that that would no longer be the case. 

She’d hated being in that room; not because she was claustrophobic or because she was scared of ghosts (though Cyril would still have to hold her hand whenever they walked over because she was “afraid that she might trip,” or something), but because she hated the thought that he lived in such a drab place. 

“And where do the other monastery orphans sleep?” she’d asked. 

“Oh, in the stables, in other spare closets, ya know,” he’d answered nonchalantly. “I used to sleep in the stables too before Lady Rhea offered me this space for working so hard.” 

Lysithea had kept her mouth shut then. She’d focused on the lesson and ignored the faded flickering of his only candle, the bugs that would sometimes crawl over one of her hands, the heavy feeling in her heart. Instead she had distracted herself with the way he had to push his hair back every couple minutes or the way his nose would scrunch up when he had trouble reciting a particular word. What would have been the point in arguing? It wasn’t as if she could have invited him to live in her room (though the thought had tempted her more than once), and she was sure he’d have refused any monetary help she offered. All she could have done was hope that it wouldn’t be a permanent arrangement. 

And yet, when the war had begun and she’d been reunited with him after half a decade, he was still crammed into that nook, except now he had to hunch over to make his way around and his feet dangled off the side of his bed. Even Lysithea had had to bend her knees slightly to avoid scratching her scalp on the rough wooden ceiling. 

“You’re still sleeping here?” she’d asked, laying out her reading materials on the table while he removed his leather armor.

Cyril had shrugged it off. “Well, I’ve been sleeping in much worse as of late. The search for Lady Rhea didn’t really make pit stops at Garreg Mach, I’m afraid.”

He’d had a point. “But, now that you’re a Knight of Seiros, surely they’d give you another room, right?”

“Only Lady Rhea knights folks.” He’d been rather adamant about that fact. As such, he wasn’t a knight, and no room would be made for him in the barracks, though she would have bet a few gold that if he’d only asked, Alois would have given him a room straight away. 

So she’d once again ignored the discomfort, though that time it had been much easier to do so because she’d been too busy worrying about where to put her hands, her limbs, her  _ everything _ because two fifteen year-olds had fit just fine, but two adults was a different matter altogether. Sitting on opposite sides of the table meant their knees would be cramped, sitting side by side on the bed meant their necks would be aching for hours. 

“Wait, I have an idea,” Cyril had told her, and before she’d realized how it would turn out, she’d been sitting in front of him, between his legs so that they both took up the length of the bed without wasting any space. 

It was at that point that she’d cursed that room, not because it was a little gross or dark or bare, but because it had forced them into such a position where she could feel his breath against her neck and his hair tickling her cheek as he read over her shoulder. She tried not to think about it, but she was sure that he could feel her heart pounding against his chest too. If not that, then for sure he could feel the small trembles that overtook her when his fingers accidentally grazed hers while flipping to the next page. If there had been anything advantageous about that position, it had been the fact that he couldn’t see her face very well, which meant that she could blush in comfort at the very least. 

She hadn’t had such good luck when they’d reached the war’s end. 

The entire monastery had become a carnival ground, with the dining hall spitting out food nonstop and drunkards as far as the eye could see. If their victory against Nemesis hadn’t been reason enough for a celebration, the Professor had just gotten  _ engaged _ . It had only been natural that she and Cyril had snuck away after a while, exhausted from the festivities and dealing with increasingly drunk comrades. 

Lysithea had initially suggested her own room, but upon finding that some of the drunker knights were skinny-dipping in the pond, she’d conceded that Cyril’s room was their safest bet. No one had noticed as they peeled back that curtain and tiptoed above the dancing knights below in the reception hall. She had thought that the noise would be hard to bear in Cyril’s room, what with its location and all, but it had been surprisingly muffled, as if the celebration were going on in a neighboring town rather than right underneath them. 

And granted, it might have been because she had downed a couple glasses herself, or because her body was finally feeling the effects of having fought in an actual war for months, or simply because she failed to care anymore, but when she had cuddled under the sheets with Cyril beside her, her head under his chin and their limbs tangled together in ways that shouldn’t have been comfortable for  _ anyone _ , she couldn’t help but thank that stupid room and tiny hay bed. That night, she had let her heart beat as hard as it wanted to. 

“I need to go home, handle some unfinished business,” she’d told him early the next morning. She’d never been in his room when the sun was still up, and it had surprised her just how much light seeped into the nook if the curtains were only parted. 

“Will you be back?” 

“I’m… not sure…” she’d answered honestly. 

Afterwards he’d walked her out onto the interior balcony and pulled her into a tight hug, the one thing that damned room couldn’t handle. It was at that point she’d felt his heart too, and hers had dropped to the bottom of her stomach, where it would remain for years to follow. 

“Please try to,” he’d said before letting go and accompanying her to where her carriage was to depart.

She had considered asking him to go with her, to leave his nook behind and exchange it for hers, for as long as she still kept it. But there had been only two possible answers he could have given her: either he’d choose his corner of the world over her, or he’d leave it all behind for her sake. She couldn’t stand the thought of either, so she’d stayed silent, even as he yelled out something out of ear’s reach when her carriage drew out. She’d convinced herself that it would end there. That she’d make herself forget.

But now she was standing right in front of that first gray curtain, debating whether to pull it back and let herself through. She hadn’t come for him; she’d come to rid her family of their noble status, to complete her ultimate goal. Still, her thoughts kept wandering back to him, and she wondered if it was okay to let herself indulge just this once. It was unlikely that he was even there, seeing as how he must have become an official knight by now and probably had a room elsewhere. Even if that wasn’t the case, there was no way he wasn’t keeping himself occupied in some part of the monastery. 

It was that understanding that pushed her to climb up those familiar, terrifying steps and make her way to the opposite wall, subconsciously peering over the railing to make sure that no one was watching. Cyril’s room wasn’t meant to be a secret, really, but she felt like she couldn’t allow anyone else to find out regardless, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. 

Her eyes were so busy looking down that she failed to notice the second set of curtains, parted, until she basically ran into them. She quickly slapped her hands over her face, trying to rid it of any dust and dirt. 

“Lysithea?” 

_ Oh, goddess, no… _

Lysithea opened her eyes, and towering above her was Cyril. He hadn’t changed too much over the last few years. If anything, his hair had grown a little longer and he was a tad taller, though upon closer inspection she did notice a hint of a beard growing in. 

“Hi,” she managed to say with a small wave, which was soon crushed by the aforementioned man. 

Cyril lifted her up like nothing (though with her debilitating physique, she probably  _ did  _ weigh nothing) and spun her around once before he must’ve realized they were on a balcony and set her down straight after. 

“Wh-when did you get here?” he asked, looking her up and down. 

“This morning, actually,” she replied, trying to sneak a peek over his shoulder. Was he seriously still staying in this dump?

Cyril must have taken notice of her focus because he stepped aside as if to allow her entrance. “Come in, come in,” he ushered. 

Lysithea followed him in. The room remained largely unaltered as far as she could remember, though the crates were missing and the bed was rid of its usual array of scraggly blankets. 

“I would’ve thought they’d give you a real room after so long,” she murmured aloud. 

“Oh, this isn’t really my room anymore,” he quelled her worries. “They gave me a room when I enrolled in the Officer’s Academy and since then I’ve moved into the knights’ barracks.”

“Oh, Cyril, you graduated from the academy?” Lysithea brightened up. Sometimes she forgot that he hadn’t really been a student during her time at the academy. She wished she could’ve seen him in his uniform, though. 

“Yeah, thanks to ya,” he smiled. 

And with that Lysithea knew she was gone. It didn’t take long for them to fall into easy conversation, catching up on everything they’d missed in each others’ lives during the last few years. She told him about moving out of her childhood home, the one that held nothing but bad memories (though she omitted that part), and renouncing her noble title. He spoke of Rhea’s passing, his days at the academy, and his knighting ceremony performed by their own Professor. He even explained how annoying his roommate was and how he’d still come up to his old room often when he needed to think or couldn’t sleep. 

Before she knew it, they were back on the bed again, in the position she was so used to. Cyril had even offered to read to her, now that the sun was beginning to set. She’d intended on staying at a nearby inn for the night, but she discarded that plan the moment he began speaking. The only book he had handy was a collection of Almyran folktales. 

“Almyra isn’t my home anymore, but it wasn’t all bad,” he said. “My parents used to tell me these all the time, but my memory was kinda fuzzy so I checked this out of the library.”

“They have that kind of stuff in the library?”

“They do now.”

Lysithea patiently listened as he carefully read over each word. He’d certainly improved since she’d left, though it still took him a second in between certain words that were harder to pronounce, which was a little odd. He’d been doing that forever, and though it had been his most consistent shortcoming, she would have thought that a few more years would have been more than enough to get that sorted out. 

“You know, I would’ve thought you’d get rid of those little pauses by now,” she dared interrupt. She hoped she didn’t sound mean-spirited or anything of the like.

“Oh, that?” Cyril paused his reading, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess I haven’t been practicing as often since ya left.”

“You say that as if you only practiced because of me.” 

Lysithea felt Cyril shrug behind her. “I mean, that’s not entirely wrong.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, of course I wanted to learn,” he quickly corrected himself. “But back then I only really wanted to read lists, the spines of books, signs, that sorta thing. Never a whole novel or book. If anyone else would have taught me, I probably would have quit way earlier.”

“What, you were afraid I’d throw a fireball at you otherwise?” Lysithea joked. Though she hadn’t intentionally tried to create such a reputation for herself, her academy days had been filled with rumors of a small girl with white hair who could chew you out and then burn you to a crisp. She had preferred that to being called a child, so she’d let it slide back then. She figured Cyril must have heard at least some of those rumors back then too. 

“Why would ya do that?” Cyril asked, so innocent that it made her remember a time before the war, when her escapades into this very room had allowed her to forget all about her own worries to focus on those of someone else for once. “I’ve told ya before, right? Ya have a pretty smile.”

Lysithea felt the sides of her mouth curve up. She couldn’t have stopped them even if she’d tried, especially not when he said it  _ like that _ . Goddess, coming here had been an awful idea, the absolute worst.

“Alright, alright, just keep reading,” she said, allowing herself to lean into him just a smidge more. She even closed her eyes, trusting Cyril enough at that point to recite the right words. 

Cyril gave a small, annoyed huff, but did as he was told. “After King Amir and his entourage reached the western sea, they were greeted by a powerful prophet,” he continued, noticeably more fluid than before. “With her every step, the flowers bloomed beneath her, leaving a trail of lilies in her wake. Her hair was made up of stars, and it waved around her head as if wishing to return to the sky.”

_ How odd... _ she thought to herself. So far, the stories had been much more direct, whimsical, yet also rather cynical in nature. In comparison to the Fodlan folktales that she could still recall, Almyra’s were much more didactic and to-the-point. To introduce a character with such detail seemed out of place. Yet, she sounded lovely, so she kept quiet and listened. 

“King Amir approached the prophet, seeking answers about what to do in order to save his people from the poor harvest. The prophet told him that she could not give him the answers he sought, for she was dying.”

Lysithea hoped Cyril hadn’t felt her tense up for a second. No matter what the context was, mentions of death always got this reaction out of her nowadays. It was like a constant reminder that soon she would be gone. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to lay on this bed or be read to or bite down on her lip to stop herself from making a noise. 

If Cyril had noticed, he didn’t let on. “King Amir was so distraught by the news, that he swore to find a way to keep her alive. He could not allow a creature of such wisdom and beauty depart so easily, so he offered her his world.”

“His world, huh? What good would that do?” Lysithea couldn’t help but remark, her eyes still closed. 

“Shh, I’m not done,” Cyril reprimanded her before getting back to it. “The prophet was skeptical. She couldn’t understand how the King could help her.”

“He can’t.” 

“He can!” Cyril’s voice rose in defense. “The King reassured her that he would help find a cure for her predicament, one she hadn’t tried yet. When she asked what he could possibly offer her that she didn’t already have, he offered her his heart.”

“There’s no way that’s written down.” Lysithea decided that now was the time to open her eyes. The book wasn’t even open anymore. No wonder he’d sounded so natural. “Cyril…”

“He asked her to marry him,” Cyril’s voice cracked. 

Lysithea darted around and sat on her knees, facing him. 

Cyril looked at her straight in the eye, and finished, “And sure enough, their love was able to cure both her and the harvest, and the land was covered in lilies.”

A long silence followed, the two simply staring at each other. It was Lysithea who broke down first, tears streaming down like endless waterfalls. “Cyril-” she managed to choke out, but Cyril was already embracing her, letting her wipe her face on his clothes and grip at his back as if her life depended on it. But of course it didn’t; she’d given up on it so very long ago. 

“I’m sorry, Lysithea, maybe I shouldn’t of done it like that-”

“Who told you?” she asked between sobs. “Who told you, who told you, who-”

“It was Lorenz,” he admitted. “He was here a while ago, what with running old Alliance business, and I was talking about ya and he must’ve put two and two together and he let me in on everything.”

“I should’ve told you, Cyril, I’m sorry,” she apologized. 

“Shh, shh, ya don’t need to apologize for anything,” he soothed, rubbing little circles into her back and hiding his face in the crook of her neck. “I should be the sorry one.” 

“Why?”

“Because I really do want to marry ya, Lysithea.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Lysithea half-laughed as she pulled back from the hug. She had never anticipated being proposed to by anyone, let alone the love of her life, in a dusty closet barely big enough for the both of them. If she weren’t dying, she would have found it hilarious. Even now, it was still a little funny. 

“Why not?” Cyril grasped onto her hand. 

“Because I’m dying, Cyril.”

“I know that. So what?” 

“I can’t do that to you,” she turned her head away. She didn’t want him to see how happy his insistence was making her. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to give in. “It would be better if I could just go peacefully, without any attachments.”

“I’m already in love with ya, Lysithea, I think the damage is done,” Cyril countered. 

Lysithea knew he was telling the truth. Because the damage had been dealt to the both of them. She was so in love with the man before her, and pretending that she didn’t wasn’t about to change anything. 

“But what will happen to you when I’m gone?”

“I won’t let that happen,” Cyril’s face scrunched up, just as it used to when she’d say something he didn’t like almost a decade ago. “I’ve been helping Hanneman out whenever I can, ya know?”

Lysithea had received a handful of letters from her old teacher, giving her updates on his research in searching for a cure for her. She’d never let them get her hopes up, especially since he hadn’t ever notified her of anything groundbreaking thus far. He’d also never mentioned that Cyril was assisting in the process. 

“You and I both know that that’s not a guarantee,” she pointed out. Goddess, she sounded so  _ tired.  _

“Even… even if you  _ do  _ die, I’ll be okay,” Cyril sighed. “I got over my parents’ deaths, the same way I got over Lady Rhea’s, the same way I’ll get over yours one day. Please don’t worry about me when ya need to be worried over far more.” 

“I can’t stay at this monastery, Cyril. I’m done with the church, there’s nothing for me here.”

“I didn’t ask ya to!” Cyril tilted his head slightly, like a confused puppy. 

“What, you seriously mean that you’d leave the monastery for me?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, his voice softening a bit. “There’s nothing left for me here either.”

“But you’re a knight-”

“I wanted to become a knight to protect Lady Rhea,” Cyril interrupted. “I can’t protect  _ her  _ anymore, but I can protect  _ you _ .” 

“And after I’m gone-”

“Stop saying that!”

“But I  _ will  _ be gone sooner or later,” she insisted, if not to remind him than to make sure that she didn’t forget. 

Cyril rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue that point further. “After you’re gone, I’ll find something else to occupy myself. Ashe offered to let me be a knight of his too, ya know.”

“Huh,” Lysithea mused. “I didn’t think it would be that easy to get you to leave this place.” 

“Maybe not before, but Seteth’s been helping me think up my own path for a while now, and I’ve been exploring my options.” Cyril smiled. “Though to be honest, I’ve never come up with an option that doesn’t have ya there with me.” 

Lysithea hadn’t let herself dream of the future. She didn’t have that luxury. Yet, picturing herself with Cyril felt so right, fated even. Could she really let herself go that far?  
Her silence must have put him off, because Cyril’s hand came up to cup her cheek and guide her face back to his. Touching his forehead to hers, he closed his eyes and breathed, “Please just say yes.” 

“Even with my condition?” Why couldn’t she just say no, dammit?

“ _ Especially _ because of your condition. I’d hate it if I couldn’t be around ya while ya were still here.” 

“Are you sure?”  _ Just say no.  _

“Lysithea, if ya fear hurting me, just know that you’ll hurt me even more if you refuse.” It was then that he dared lean in further, as if proving a point, but it was Lysithea that closed the gap. 

_ There’s no way I can say no.  _

Not with the way his lips felt so warm when pressed to hers, not with the way he brushed through her hair with one hand or tapped his fingers against her thigh with the other. Regardless of her condition, she was convinced that she could live an eternity like this. 

“Fine,” she whispered as they broke apart. “On one condition.” 

“Anything.” Cyril’s shining eyes and smile almost killed her then and there. 

“We need to get a bigger bed.” 

“Really?” he teased, pulling her back onto him so that she was spread on his chest. “I think this one’s more than enough. Cozy, ya know?”

“No way!” she laughed, kissing him one more time. 

“But we can crash here tonight?”

“Absolutely.” 

* * *

The next morning, when Lysithea woke up, Cyril was nowhere to be seen. Considering how small the bed was, she was surprised that she hadn’t felt him get up, or maybe she’d just been too tired to remember. With a yawn, she got about putting on her accessories and shoes, running her hand through her tangled hair in the process. 

“Oh, you’re up,” she heard Cyril say as he came back. He’d already changed into a different set of clothes and brushed his hair. On his shoulder, he carried a sack, clearly full of something. 

“What’s that?”

“My things,” he answered, setting the sack down at his feet. “I got them out of my other room. I already notified the Professor of my resignation. Hope ya don’t mind that I’ve already invited them to the wedding.” 

“Already?” Lysithea had assumed that it would take him a few days to get his affairs in order. It couldn’t possibly be that his life had been tied up into that sack so easily. 

“When it comes to ya, there’s no time to waste, right?” he winked. 

“Does that mean you’re all set to head out?” 

He nodded, offering her his arm. 

Lysithea grinned, taking it without a second’s hesitation. The few things she’d brought with her had been left saddled onto her horse, as she had meant to only stay a night. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I think I’m going to miss it here,” she said as she pulled the curtain closed behind her on the way out. 

“I always thought ya hated that place,” Cyril remarked. 

Lysithea felt her cheeks burn up. “Was I that obvious?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he teased, leading her away and along the balcony. 

“Hmph,” she crossed an arm. “Well, I would’ve thought you’d be more attached to it than I am.” 

“Well once I reached a certain height, the only time I really enjoyed being in there was whenever you tagged along,” he admitted. “And now I’ve got you here, so there’s no need.” He raised her hand up to his lips to kiss it. 

“Right, right,” Lysithea laughed. The pair made it down the stairs and shrugged past the curtains one last time before setting them back in place. 

“Who else knows about this place?” she asked as they made their way to the stables to pick up her horse and so that Cyril could retrieve his wyvern. 

“I wouldn’t know,” he shrugged. 

Lysithea found her horse being tended to by a young monastery girl. By the looks of her clothes, she must have been working there all morning. 

“Thank you for taking care of her,” she told the girl as she handed her the reins. 

“No problem, miss,” the girl smiled, just about to slip away to care for another horse, no doubt, before Cyril blocked her path. 

He bent down to look less intimidating and asked her, “Do you sleep here?” 

The girl nodded, her eyes wide. Though Claude’s work had largely changed public opinion on Almyra, some habits still died hard. 

Cyril then leaned in and whispered something in her ear before letting her go. “She’ll be sleeping well tonight,” he smiled. 

_ And so will I,  _ Lysithea smiled back.  _ So will I.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I meant to only write that last section but then I wrote the first paragraph and wrote and additional 3000 words haha...


End file.
